Make it awesome, guys
by Ange55555
Summary: Every year on this day, a small group of nations gather together to remember someone they've lost. They don't cry or mourn, instead, they laugh and party like no tomorrow. Because that's what Prussia would want them to do.


**Hello folks! This is my first fanfic I've written and published like this, so I'm still a newbie at this. Reviews and constructive criticism will be loved, flames will be used for roasting marshmallows while England sings the demon-summoning song. Enjoy!**

**Rating: K+**

**Pairings: Some minor hints at different pairings could be platonic if you'd rather see it that way.**

**Warnings: Implied character death, alcohol consumption and disrespectful behavior in a cemetery.**

**Summary: Every year on this day, a small group of nations gather together to remember someone they've lost. They don't cry or mourn, instead, they laugh and party like no tomorrow. Because that's what Prussia would want them to do.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters featured in this story, if I did… It probably wouldn't be as awesome!**

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><p>Ludwig's life followed a seemingly permanent schedule. He got up at exactly the same time every morning, showered, got dressed, ate breakfast and drove to work. He arrived at his office at precisely the same second as always, his boss greeting him with the usual 'Good morning, Germany.' He went about this routine from dawn to dusk, every second of the week, every hour of the month, 364 days a year. No, not 365 days, 364. Today was different.<p>

Today was that special day of the year when Germany didn't go to work. The day when he stayed in bed, looking at his roof and thinking instead of getting up. Today was that strange, different day that wasn't the same as all the others. Today was a day that had been cut from his usual reality and given its own parallel universe, where the rest of his life didn't exist. Today was the anniversary of his brother's death.

Germany honestly couldn't recall just how many years it had been. To him, it felt like a lifetime. Maybe it was, he wouldn't have known. Nations were immortal, after all. At least they should be.

Nobody had expected Gilbert to go out like he did. They would have all understood if he'd died when his kingdom was dissolved, or when the wall came down. It would have made sense. But Prussia had lived on. He had given them all a big goofy grin and said; 'I guess you're not getting rid of the awesome me that easily!' The former nation had been as energetic as ever, going drinking with his friends and annoying the life out of his family and neighbors. It had just been him, the same old Gilbert that Ludwig had been raised by. A troublemaking loudmouth with an ego the size of the earth, even when he was living in his younger brother's basement. Therefore it had been a real shock when Germany one morning had descended the stairs to wake his brother, only to find him on the couch, no more alive than the cushions beneath him.

It had been a hard blow, not only for Germany. It was just so sudden and unexpected. Prussia had survived wars, famine and disease. He had survived being dissolved, the wall and Russia. As Germany himself had put it; 'Gilbert just won't die, he's simply too stubborn for that.' Those words had come back to slap him in the face. Hard.

Most of the day was quiet, spent on barely anything but reminiscing. It was already late afternoon when Germany got into his car and began the long drive to the graveyard.

The iron gates of the cemetery opened with an unpleasant sound, like two pieces of styrofoam being rubbed together. His shoes made soft crunching noises as he walked up the path, taking in his surroundings with a sweeping look. It really was quite a beautiful place, guaranteed to be peaceful on any day but this one. His brother's grave was at the top of a grassy hill, a few trees spread out here and there. The view was spectacular, looking down the hill one could see the whole town that lay below. It was a small town, albeit a very pretty one.

Germany looked down at the grave by his feet and smiled slightly as he found someone had been there before him, as always. On Prussia's grave laid a single red rose, a large maple leaf attached to it. Gilbert had often been the only one who never forgot about Canada, and Matthew still expressed his gratitude by always making sure to remember this day. Beside the rose laid a small bouquet of white flowers, tied together by a purple ribbon. Germany had never received any confirmation or proof of who else paid a visit to his brother's grave this day, but he suspected it to be Switzerland and Liechtenstein. Lily would probably have wanted to pay her respects, and Vash would have come with her. At least Germany liked to think so.

There was always one little detail that bothered him, however. It wasn't the surroundings, or the flowers on the grave. It was the grave itself. More precisely, the tombstone. It was a perfectly ordinary, gray, square. _'Gilbert Beilschmidt'_ were the words carved into the smooth surface. No more, no less. There were no dates, that would have been a bit difficult. Still… It felt like it was lacking something.

"He reallywould have hated this tombstone, wouldn't he?" A voice suddenly said to Germany's left. Ludwig blinked and turned to look at Austria, he hadn't heard the other nation arrive.

"I mean, it is so…" The bespectacled man waved his hand in front of him in a gesture which expressed his difficulty with finding the right words to use. "It is so plain, so boring, so…"

"Un-awesome?" Hungary suggested, wrapping her arms around one of his as she smiled. Germany couldn't help but to smile a little himself.

"Roderich, Elizabeta." He greeted, nodding to each of them in turn.

"Ludwig." Austria replied, nodding back.

"Hi Ludwig." Hungary said, detaching herself from her ex-husband to give the younger man a hug. Germany smiled again as he returned the gesture.

The three of them stood quiet for a long while, the silence only broken by the rustling sound the bouquet of white lilies made as Elizabeta laid them down on the grave.

Hours later, the final members of their little group arrived. The sun had begun to set, dyeing the sky orange. The arrival of Francis and Antonio marked the start of what they were really there to do. France laid more flowers on the grave, roses, naturally. Spain had his hands full with crates of premium German beer, Gilbert's favorite brand.

They weren't here to cry, to mourn or be sad. Prussia would have kicked them all good if he saw them doing that. They were here to celebrate, to laugh, to get as drunk as anyone possibly could. Because that's how the former nation would have wanted it. They wanted to do him justice, and a pity-party was to 'un-awesome' for that.

They sat down in a circle, leaving a gap for the tombstone between Austria and France. They grabbed a beer each and toasted.

"To Prussia, the most infuriating nation the world has ever seen." Austria said.

"To Gilbert, a man who remained a child no matter how many years passed." Hungary continued.

"To mein bruder, who raised me and taught me about the world, even though he was never the best teacher." Germany's mouth twitched as he spoke.

"To mi amigo, the finishing touch to a bad trio." Antonio grinned, and the others chuckled at his joke.

"To mon ami, whose amour will always live in our hearts." France finished, knowing very well how cheesy and lame Prussia would have thought he sounded. They clinked their bottles together and drank. Austria took a bottle and poured it over the tombstone as France complained about the taste, and how badly beer tasted compared to his precious wine. Spain laughed at him, commenting that Prussia had never liked wine, so he wasn't allowed to drink it today.

The evening went on, and as bottle after bottle was consumed the small group of people got louder and louder. There had been the rare occasion where a stranger would pass by and give them a disapproving look, obviously thinking their behavior inappropriate and disrespectful. They didn't care, not even Roderich did, they knew Gilbert didn't mind. They sang and laughed until they felt like their hearts would burst.

This continued on until after the night had fallen, when everyone had had more than their share of alcohol. Then came the tears. The celebration didn't damper, they just sat around crying together, laughing at each other while still offering support. Toward the end, most of them had either fallen asleep or were too drunk to really do anything anymore. Silence reigned for a while, the calm after the storm and the realization that they were all going to have a horrible hangover the next day. Then one by one, the group began to thin out.

The first to stand was Austria. Having an astounding alcohol tolerance, even better than that of Prussia himself, Roderich was actually quite sober. Helping Elizabeta to her feet, the two quietly walked down the hill. Shortly afterward, the Italy-brothers arrived. Feliciano helped Ludwig to stand and laughed a little as Lovino cursed under his breath, muttered about how heavy Spain was. Soon only France remained, passed out in front of the tombstone.

"Bloody git…" England muttered, looking down at him. He didn't know why he came to drive the stupid frog home every year. He just knew Francis wouldn't get home by himself, and that no one else would pick him up. As much as Arthur hated his guts, he wasn't going to leave the French nation to wake up at a cemetery out in the middle of nowhere with the worst hangover in history. He wasn't _that_ cruel.

Lifting one of the older man's arms around his shoulder and supporting him, England couldn't help but look back over his shoulder as they walked down the hill. Just to sneak one last glance at the smiling ghost sitting on the tombstone. His transparent silver hair and skin shone in the moonlight, the faint line of a tearstain on his cheek.

"_Kesesesesese!" _He laughed. _"Idiots… I'm the only one who's allowed to be this awesome, dammit." _


End file.
